A mother lays back and lets her family take over everything (to be continued)

The sun was hot. In fact it was baking on that incredulously warm
summer's day. We sat, like the perfect family, on the sandy beach with
our umbrellas, rugs and sand covered picnic. Nelly, my middle daughter
was sunbathing in a ludicrously small bikini which made all the passing
men and boys stare until Harold made her cover up because she was
turning red. Grudgingly, Nelly put on a tiny vest top that hardly
covered more than her bikini, though the stares did lesson. Nelly was a
very skinny girl, with a flat stomach but hardly any boobs. Her dark
chestnut hair was cut in a square bob, that she informed us was oh so
fashionable when we had to pay the extortionate bill for it, which
matched her dark eyes. Our youngest daughter, Abigail, was making a
sand castle and had roped our two oldest children, Faith and Robert,
into helping her. Abigail was a cheeky beautiful child, with the same
chestnut hair as Nelly but with paler skin from less sunbathing and
chubbier cheeks from never turning down an ice-cream. Abigail was such
a cheeky child, with the most fabulous laugh that could win her
anything. It was quite a sight to see her running around with a pair of
bikini bottoms on, like a French child, collecting shells, feathers and
stones for the castle. Faith and Robert were still piling sand onto the
mound and chatting away about something from school. Robert, our oldest
child, looked hansom at nearly 20 his muscles were well defined and his
dark hair was curling around his ears, much like his father's at that
age. Robert was very stubborn; nothing anyone said could change his
mind about anything apart from Abigail. One word from her and he would
do anything. He loved her so much that it was almost like he was the
father, rather than brother. We, Harold and I, knew how much Robert
wanted children, but his girlfriend; Elise wanted a career before
babies, leaving Robert to dote on his youngest sister. Faith was blond
and awfully thin, bones poked through her white skin all over her body,
and even on that hot day she wore a woollen shawl around her shoulders.
Faith was16 years old and lucky to be alive, everyday I thanked God
that she was still alive. As a baby she had been very ill, all the
doctors thought she was going to die, but thankfully she pulled
through. To this day she remains a fragile person with her weakened
immune system, though stunning with her blue blue eyes and almost white
blond hair making her look almost porcelain. Though fragile she had the
same long legs as her father and her brother, leaving her 6 foot tall
on that hot summer day. Nelly and Abigail were much smaller and broader
in the shoulder, which Nelly never stopped telling me was unattractive
in a woman, as if I had choice in how she was made and could edit her
at any point if I wanted to. At 14 Nelly believed that having the
correct broadness of shoulder, the correct flatness of stomach and the
least spots were the most important things in life, not forgetting her
beloved sunbathing. Faith, though only a couple of years older than
Nelly, was much more interested in her studies, mainly literature and
history, with some art and science, and did not really care if she had
an outbreak of spots, even though her skin never portrayed even a
slight pimple, or if her long hair was not completely perfect for
school. In that way she was like Abigail, who was extremely popular in
her class and the more often she came in without brushing her hair and
still with mud in her face, the more popular she became. Abigail was a
bossy child, which was probably why she was popular in her reception
class, and never hesitated to let her feelings be known, however odd
they may be.
“Mummy,” shouted Abigail as she came rushing back up the sand from where
she had been investigating a rock on the water's edge, “look!” and she
thrust her grubby, sandy little hand towards my nose, opening it and
revealing a hermit crab. I nodded absentmindedly as I tried to continue
reading an article in my magazine about how a mother saved her 3
children from a flood, and then went back to help rescue a further 6
children from varying neighbours while being 7 months pregnant.
“Lovely, darling,” I said vaguely. I didn't see her little eyes turn to
slits as she realised her mother was not paying her the attention she
thought she deserved.
“Mummy!” she shouted very close to my ear, which, of course, got my full
attention very quickly.
“Abigail!” I said, using my cross mother's voice, “Do not shout.”
“But mummy...”
“Not buts Abigail, now, what is it you want to cause you to shout so
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